


better find another superstition

by infunpants



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Haunted Houses, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Canon, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infunpants/pseuds/infunpants
Summary: Tim goads Jon into doing some (totally legal) work with him after hours. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	better find another superstition

**Author's Note:**

> title is, of course, taken from gerard way's "baby you're a haunted house." i had to do it. 
> 
> this was written for a request i got on tumblr from my pal lou; you can find me over there @intersustainability. i talk about tma but like, other stuff too. 
> 
> enjoy reading :)

Tim was waiting for him when he got off work. 

"I'll walk you home," he said, leaning against the brick arch outside the Institute, thumbs tucked into his belt loops. Jon takes a second to look him over in a way he hopes comes across as critical, then promptly walks past. 

"No thank you," he calls curtly behind him, continuing on his way out the entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Tim pushes himself off the wall. "It's too far to walk on foot," Jon clarifies.

"Then I'll walk you to the tube," Tim bounces back, nonplussed. 

Jon points across the street, waiting for Tim to follow his gaze to the tube entrance, not more than two lines of traffic away. Tim bites his lip when he sees it. 

"Plan on holding my hand as we look both ways?" Jon mocks. 

Tim smiles, "I would if you'd let me." 

Something in the way he says itー bittersweet and just a tad too seriousー doesn't fit. Feels like the air is too thin. 

Jon stiffens. Tighten his grip on his messenger bag. Steps away. 

"Sorry," Tim says, realizing he may have overstepped. "Didn't mean to put you on the spot. Just wanted to…" 

He struggles for a few seconds, looking away. Jon absolutely does not stare at his mouth in anticipation of whatever words might come next. 

"I wanted to ask… if you'd like to join me…" 

Jon sways forward. 

"... to go explore that haunted house a few streets down?"

Tim twirls to face Jon, who looks like he's been slapped. He swallows. "Thisー this, er, wouldn't happen to be the, ah, the property I requested you look into as a follow up on that statement concerning the, ah," long sigh, "'bleeding ghost horse?'"

Tim grins. "Yup, that's the one! You suggested I 'handle it off the clock.' Well, now I'm off the clock. If you were asking me to work unpaid overtime, and I think you were, then it's really only fair that you come with."

"Is it?" Jon asks.

"I think it is," Tim nods faux-regretfully. 

For a time, neither moves. Jon grinds his teeth together, unwilling to budge. Tim's stare doesn't let up. 

"Fine," he bites out. "I'll go see the bloody house with you. Not like I had plans or anything." He really didn't. 

"Great!" Tim grins and strolls down the street whistling, leaving Jon no choice but to gather his pride and follow. 

After a ten minute walk during which Jon very pointedly focused his gaze on the ground and only looked up at crosswalks, he and Tim now stand in front of a frankly boring Victorian home. If Jon was forced to, he might say that it was a bit worn down around the edges, lacking a certain amount of upkeep, probably in need of a new paint job… but nothing about the location screams 'terror' at him. It simply needs a bit of care. 

"Man, this place is creepy as fuck," Tim remarks; Jon rolls his eyes. 

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not! I'm not. Just, yikes. Can't believe some poor real estate agent got tasked with selling this monster." He kicks at an Open House sign dug into the pitiful patch of grass trying to pass for a front lawn. It's barely legible, faded by sunlight and overrun by weeds. 

Jon acknowledges the sign and puts on a look of disappointment. "Well, you know what that means... " he fake sighs and starts to walk away. 

"Hold up!" Tim calls after him, jogging a meter or so to catch up and grab him. "What do you mean?" His fingers are curled around Jon's arm when he asks, though Jon hasn't made any move to escape. Jon stares at it, waiting for Tim to let go. It seems he still bites his nails, but Jon guesses that old habits die hard. 

It's at that point that he realizes he's been asked a question, and looks up to meet Tim's expectant gaze. "Er, sorry, whatー what was it that you asked?" 

Tim finally releases his arm; Jon breathes out. "You said something about the Open House sign then tried to ditch. What's that about?"

Jon gathers his thoughts enough to reply. "Oh, right, the sign. Well, it means this place is still on the market, doesn't it? Hence, someone must own the property. We cannot enter onto private property without the owner's permission, that would be trespassing."

"And?" Tim asks. 

"'And?!' It'sー trespassing is illegal, Tim!" Jon sputters. 

"Right," Tim nods, "and no one in the Archives has ever done anything illegal for the job before. Definitely not at your request." 

Jon looks offended. "I've never asked any of you to do anything illegal!"

Tim raises a single incredulous eyebrow. 

"I've never asked any of you to do anything expressly illegal!" He amends. 

Tim lolls his head back to look at the sky in exasperation, as if asking the heavens for help coping with his annoying boss. "Alright," he seems to decide. "We're going in."

"No way!" Jon protests. "Absolutely not. Never. We'll do no such thing." Tim, uncaring, walks right back on the lawn and up to the door, where he starts fiddling with the handle. Okay, fine, he'll just leave then. Let Tim get arrested if he wants to, but he doesn't have to aid and abet shit! No reason to get involved. This logic works out just fine until Jon remembers that he is, technically, the commissioner of this crime and that law enforcement will have no trouble tracing it back to him. Now he's left standing on the pavement, stuck in indecisive frustration, until he snaps and stomps over to where Tim is still struggling with the doorknob, cursing himself the entire time. 

"Hey!" Tim flashes his teeth at Jon. "Glad you decided to show up. Didn't want to do this without you." Tim says that last part without meeting his eyes, and Jon can't tell whether or not he means it. 

Jon puts a hand up between Tim and the door. "This is useless," he points out. 

Tim's smile drops from his face. Jon misses it immediately. 

"We should try the back instead."

There it is again. 

\---

Tim decides that the best way to the backyard is via the tight alleyway that separates this house from the next. The space is small and only fits a single person at a time. Tim suggests Jon enter with a coy "ladies first," but based on the silent stink eye he receives, he'll have to be the brave soul that shimmies forth into that dark alley. It isn't pleasant by a long shot, but reminds Tim of his childhood in the weird sort of way that only absolutely ruining your clothes with dust and grime can. He makes it about three quarters of the way through before he turns back to see that Jon is still cowering by the entrance. "Coming?" He shouts.

"No, I think I'm alright as is. I'll wait until you make it to the other side."

Time glances at the end of the alley, only a meter or so away. "Really?" He shouts just a bit louder this time. "Because, you know, it looks really suspicious if you're just loitering out there for no reason, and all pedestrians wouldn't be able to see you in here." Appealing to Jon's sense of paranoia isn't Tim's favorite way to convince the man, but damn if it isn't effective. 

"Fine!" Jon snaps, then looks around worriedly. "I'm coming, I'm coming. You don't have to goad me into anything." Tim rolls his eyes at the obvious lie, but can't bring himself to be truly upset as he watches Jon approach the entrance and awkwardly try to shuffle in. 

"It's a lot easier if you walk sideways."

"I know!"

While Jon is busy forcing himself down the small passage, Tim takes the time to investigate the persistent tingle on his neck, and is none too pleased to find a small silver thread there, He wipes it away with one hand, and in the midst of doing so, realizes what it must mean. He looks up to verify, andー yep, that's no good. Jesus, Jon's gonna freak. 

Speaking of Jon, he's finally made it to where Tim is standing. His shoulders are raised in clear discomfort, and his eyes move about rapidly. He bumps into Tim, then jerks back. "Why haven't you moved?" He hisses, incredibly displeased, but more than that... scared. Tim places one hand on Jon's upper arm in a placating gesture. 

"Okay so, totally not like, a big deal or anything, but I thought you might want me to warn you that we're about to walk under a giant spider web."

Jon, if possible, stiffens even further. " _What,_ " he breathes.

"Yeah," Tim says, rubbing Jon's arm in what he hopes comes across as a comforting manner. "I just thought you might appreciate a little heads up. I know you don't like them." Saying that he's terrified of them would be more accurate. 

Jon grits his teeth. "How thoughtful of you."

"I do try." Tim replies. "So we're just gonna walk to the end of this alley, nice and slow." Saying this, he takes one step further, maintaining his grip on Jon's arm. Slow and steady, one step at a time. Jon still hasn't moved. That should be okay, if Tim's plan works out. Before he knows it, he's on the other side of the web, practically out of the alley. "C'mon," he urges Jon. "I'll catch you."

Jon casts a look of doubt in his direction, giving Tim the perfect opportunity to tug on his arm, giving his fear-frozen body no choice but to tip forward, leaving him standing directly under the web. Registering this, his brain enters fight or flight mode and orders his body to go barreling out of the alley, hitting Tim with enough speed to force him to the ground. He's still holding Jon's arm, though, and so Jon falls onto his chest not a second after he hits the dirt. Altogether, Tim thinks the plan turned out great. 

"See?" He chuckles, letting his hand fall from where it was clutching Jon's forearm. "Told you I'd catch you."

\---

Jon's still catching his breath, honestly, but he lets out a surprisingly clear laugh at Tim's comment. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like everything's the way it was just a month ago. He lets the past wash over him, lets his breathing even out from where he rests on Tim's chest. Tim's warm, solid chest, rising and falling and dimly beating underneath it all. Then, suddenly, he remembers where they are, and rolls over to stand up, dusting any imaginary cobwebs or comfort off. 

Tim must realize the moment has passed as well, since he pushes himself up from the ground and shakes out his shirt a bit. Together, they face the back door. 

"So…" Time says, still beating the last of the dirt from his trousers. "It's only fair that you go first this time." Jon tries to make the way he recoils at that suggestion as subtle as possible, but nothing escapes Tim. "I mean, it was your idea to go around the back. I assumed you had a plan, _boss_." 

Jon huffs, but reluctantly takes the few careful steps to the back door. He scrutinizes the handle, noting the once golden gilding that has fallen to decay and dust over the years. Before touching it, he shrugs his jacket sleeve just a little bit down his shoulder and wraps the cuff around his hand. There, a pseudo-glove. With one despondent backwards glance to Tim, the bastard, Jon steels himself and firmly grips the handle. He twists it, and pushes inward. 

The door doesn't budge. 

Jon jiggles the handle a bit more. Shifts his grip. Applies more force. Alas, it's useless. 

"Have you tried pulling?" Tim suggests. 

Jon pulls. 

It opens. 

Jon carefully avoids looking at Tim's shit-eating grin, like that will make him any less aware of where it's plastered on his face. "Good idea, Tim," he offers instead, placatingly. "But it was my idea to use the back entrance in the first place, you know, so... " Tim winks at 'back entrance' and that's just so incredibly… somethingー inappropriate, probably, unprofessional ーthat Jon has to turn away immediately and charge into the house. 

The interior is… beautiful. No, wait, that can't be right. He'd glanced through the windows at the front of the house, it had been a mess. Dark, and dirty, and desolate, and so _not this_. 

The first thing he registers is the wallpaper, at eye-level. It's a mesmerizing floral geometric pattern, a mixing of styles that ought not to make sense together, but miraculously do anyways. He follows the repeating petals and triangles as they stretch upwards to the ceiling, where the decorative crown molding separates the wall from the ceiling. The ceiling itself is notably lacking in cracks or leaks that even Jon's own office has; it's just a clear airy creme colour, broken up by a crystal chandelier set in the center of the room. Every crystal gleams, the light inside that _should not be on_ casting fractals around the room. Leather chairs and a loveseat surround a rectangular carpet and elegant coffee table. Every surface is clear and bright, including the hardwood flooring that he and Tim have just so kindly stumbled onto. 

"What theー?" Tim stammers as he enters behind Jon. "The place didn't look this way from the outside, did it?"

Jon doesn't answer. It didn't. 

"This is seriously spooky," Tim says. Jon's annoyance at the word brings him back to the present. 

"No, it isn't. You're making things up to scare yourself because you came here seeking a fright. In all likelihood, someone has just finally bought the property and is going about cleaning it up." He murmurs, "Another good reason for us not to be here." Then he takes another step forward despite himself. 

Tim follows. "Should we, ah, take off our shoes? You know, for politeness' sake."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tim," Jon scolds. 

The house creaks.

Quietly, they both slip off their loafers and place them neatly by the door. Jon ignores any mocking expression Tim has put on. 

"So, boss, onwards and upwards?" He whispers over Jon's shoulder, nodding at a curving stairwell tucked into one corner. Jon bites back his immediate "fuck no" response, instead settling on a withering glare and pointed ignorance of the way Tim's warm breath felt ghosting across his neck.

He doesn't _flee_ the contact, but he does remove himself from Tim's proximity nonetheless, striding briskly over to the stairwell. He has one hand on the railing before he slows down, stopping to note the waxy texture of the wood beneath his fingers. He lifts his hand from it, briefly rubbing his fingertips together. No dust. Interesting. 

When he finally remembers to look back up Tim is staring at him, an indescribable expression on his face. Jon checks behind him for anything worth looking at, but finding nothing looks back at Tim. "Coming?" He prods, training his face to remain solemn. 

Tim seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge a memory. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, of course." Then he throws Jon a smile, a gentle one that's nothing like what he uses to flatter his marks, just… soft. Jon's mouth suddenly feels dry. 

Tim bounds over to the stairs, and Jon begins quickly ascending them so as to avoid any untoward contact or tailgating. 

The second floor is not nearly so orderly as the downstairs, and Jon finds this fact oddly comforting. All the polished wood and shining surfaces appear to have been a fluke. The walls here are dull, layers of faded color and designs peeling away under years of sunlight glaring through dusty window panes. The carpet appears moldy in places, and the hall is completely bare of pictures and furniture. Jon shuffles to the side when Tim comes up, and he thinks he can even hear the carpet squelch under his feet. 

Tim has only just set foot on the landing when he turns to Jon, likely to make some clever quip, but he only gets as far as opening his mouth because suddenly a crash echoes from one of the rooms, followed by indistinct shouting and Jon doesn't think. The flight instinct kicks in again and he grabs the nearest door handle, pulling it open and dragging himself and Tim inside. 

\---

Tim gasps as his back hits the hard wall of theー storage closet? — that he and Jon are now stuffed in together. 

"Jon, whatー?" he starts, before Jon shushes him, pressing a single finger to his lips and, hm, yeah, shutting up is starting to look really good right about now. 

Jon stands on his tippy toes to whisper in Tim's ear, "I think someone's in the house."

Tim nods, because really, is it that much of a shock? He wraps his hand around Jon's wrist and slowly lowers his arm. Jon's breathing quietly, probably for stealth purposes, but also fast. Too fast. Tim desperately runs down an internal list of calming mechanisms that he'd memorized over the years, before returning to a classic. He was not letting Jon have an anxiety attack on his watch, dammit. 

"Hey," he starts, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Jon? Can you breathe with me?" Jon makes a movement in the dark that looks like nodding, so Tim decides to go for it. He puts one hand on Jon's chest to track his breathing, and places Jon's hand on his so he can match it. he feels Jon's lungs fill up and deflate, again and again, slowly reaching a steady pace. "Good," he finds himself saying. "Good, good… " he repeated, over and over, trying not to focus too hard on how close he and Jon are, how he can feel Jon's even exhalations on his lips, because _dammit this is not the time_. Fuck, Tim is too bi for this. 

He drags his hand away from Jon's chest, because he is a good man who does not take advantage of people in vulnerable scenarios, and Jon seems to be just fine by now. "You okay?" He checks instead, and then very carefully refuses to get choked up because Jon has just leaned forward to rest his head against Tim's chest and nod. What the fuck. 

Okay, calm down. It's okay. It's dark in the closet, so Tim can't quite see the look in Jon's eyes when he pulls away from his chest, but it feels familiar. Probably nothing. For the second time that day, Tim opens his mouth to say that something that he'll never quite get around to; only this time it isn't a mysterious crash that stops him, it'sー it's Jon. Kissing him. 

Holy shit.

He leans into the kiss, wrapping one arm around Jon's back and cradling his face with the other. Meanwhile Jon had moved his hands up to Tim's face, rubbing little circles into his temple. Christ, that feels nice. He shifts his hand to the back of Jon's head and deepens the kiss a little more, at the same time relaxing into it. Who knew making out with your newly appointed boss in a storage closet could be so perfect? Well, honestly, he'd sort of expected it to be, but still, he never thoughtー

And that was when the door opened. 

\---

Jon jumps away as the light floods the tiny closet, face burning. 

He turns to face whatever threat had discovered their hiding place, andー well, hide behind Tim, most likely. But when he does see the figure standing in the doorway, it's far from a monster. Instead, he sees a middle-aged Filipino woman, eyebrows raised in an expression of mild shock and amusement. her gaze quickly shifts from Jon to Tim, who's sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. 

She says something to him in a language that Jon recognizes as Tagalog, from overhearing Tim's phone calls home. (He'd tried to pick it up once, and thought he hadn't been half bad, but not nearly fluent enough to keep up with a native speaker.) Tim replies, and they carry on with a quick exchange which seems to involve a lot of questions on the woman's part and a lot of explaining on Tim's. Eventually she shakes her head in the universal expression of "boys will be boys" and shoos them out of the closet, leaning down to pick up a bottle of cleaning detergent, that Jon only just noticed filling the closet. 

Tim turns to Jon. "Right. We should probably get out of here." 

Jon nods numbly and lets Tim lead him down the stairs, then navigate his way to the front of the house (which was about as clean as the upper floor) and out the front door. It isn't until they're off the property and partway down the street that Jon stops, looking down at where Tim is still holding his hand. He lets go. "So… " he starts, then pauses, and tries to start again many times over. "What happened back thereー" he eventually gets out, before Tim interrupts. 

"Oh, right, so Angela works in building restoration and got hired to flip the place, earlier this weekー apparently nothing is beyond restoration, huh? I explained to her that we didn't make a habit of breaking into old Victorians, offered to help her with some of the more menial work down the line, and after that it was really quiteー"

"Tim," Jon cuts him off. "I meant, ah, before that."

"Oh," Tim blushes a bit, which is cute, which Jon should not be thinking. "Oh! Yeah, well I figured that bit was pretty self explanatory. I mean, you kissed me." He smiles faintly. 

Jon's stomach drops. "Yeah, Tim, and I shouldn't have."

"What? You had no problem with it a month ago," he goes to playfully punch Jon's shoulder. "Y'know, back in Research."

Jon snatches his hand away. "I wasn't your superior 'back in Research.'"

Tim makes a choked sound of incredulity. "That seriously cannot be your hangup."

"It's a reasonable hangup to have! I am your boss, Tim, there's a power imbalance now, it wouldn't be moralー"

"It wasn't moral of you to ask me to break into that house after hours. It wasn't moral for Sasha to hack the police database, or for Martin to scam that witness over the phone last week."

"This is different," Jon insists. 

"How?" Tim asks, growing visibly upset. "I hardly think you're the type to give preferential treatmentー that is, any more so than you already do, and if you were willing to fire people over petty personal issues I highly doubt Marin would still be our coworker, so tell me how, exactly, this would be so different?"

Jon's face is a stone wall. "It just is, Tim."

\---

Tim sighs, because he damn well knows what that tone means, and it leaves no room for argument. If only Jon wasn't stuck so far up his own arse, he might be able to see what a good thing he's passing up on. But, damn him, he isn't, and he can't. So Tim just has to spend the next few months pretending he doesn't notice the way Jon looks at him when he thinks Tim can't tell, until he decides to do something about it or move on. Who knows which is more likely, but if it's the former, he'd better hope Tim's still around to humor him. 

Whatever. Tim will be fine. He's a popular guy. There's no shortage of people willing to take Jon's place, even if a little voice in the back of his mind keeps insisting that they can't measure up. Even if it's right. 

So Tim just sighs, fights the urge to take Jon's hand again, and offers to walk him to the tube. 

"Alright," Jon agrees, and Tim can already tell that it's going to be the quietest, most awkward walk he's ever had. He'll take it anyways. He always will. 

"Alright," Tim repeats, turning away from the first of what will soon be many long stares, and strolling down the pavement. 

Jon follows, and for a moment, they walk together.


End file.
